


Tip The Scales With Honesty

by poesparakeet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chubby!John, Fluff, Growing Old Together, M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poesparakeet/pseuds/poesparakeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's gained a bit of a paunch in recent years. Sherlock does what is appropriate for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tip The Scales With Honesty

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by princelingfaun on tumblr, who wanted Johnlock and chubby John. Hurray!
> 
> You can reach me via tumblr for chatting, prompts, praise at www.poesparakeet.tumblr.com  
> Update: I've started writing original tickling fiction. That blog can be found at   
> www.prudence-please-tickle.tumblr.com  
> I published my first ebook recently, and I'm pretty proud! There's a link on the sidebar of the porn blog I just mentioned.

 Sherlock Holmes was vanity incarnate, so John wasn’t sure why he jumped and looked ashamed when the detective walked in on him frowning at his stomach in the mirror. He dropped the front of his jumper down over the waist of his jeans with a cough and snatched up his toothbrush quickly. Sherlock regarded him with one raised eyebrow before reaching around his lover for the hair brush. Sherlock sat on the edge of the tub and brushed his hair while John ravaged his teeth and gums. For a moment, John thought that the detective either hadn’t observed or wasn’t going to comment. This was wishful thinking on his part.

[[MORE]]

 

“You know it’s biologically normal for a man your age to have a change in body mass.”

John took a deep breath, almost choking on some toothpaste before spitting and turning to point at Sherlock with an accusatory finger. “You are only five years younger than me!”

The detective blinked placidly at him. “I don’t see your point. The point I was making was simply that putting on seventeen pounds-”

“It’s only ten.”

Sherlock looked him up and down. “Definitely seventeen.”

“I JUST—”

“— weighed yourself? Using that scale? On this floor?”

“…yes.”

“This floor slopes significantly. The scale is inaccurate if it’s not on a flat surface.” He grabbed a cylindrical shampoo bottle, placing it on the floor. John sighed when it rolled toward the vanity of it’s own accord.

“Alright. Fine. It’s 17. Maybe I’ll start biking to work again…”

“You don’t need to. An increase in adipose tissue—”

“I know!” John cut him off with a sharp sigh. “I know, Sherlock, but just because I’m nearing forty doesn’t mean I should give up and slip into my chubby golden years.” He started to turn and stomp away, feeling petty but not wanting to look at Mr. “digesting slows me down” just then. The man hadn’t aged a day since John met him, and remained lean despite subsisting largely on sugary tea and biscuits. The fasting helped, but John had a suspicion that Sherlock’s vanity just persisted on a bio-molecular level.

The detective followed him into the bedroom, brows low and lips pursed. It was a cautious look. He sat next to John on the bed, and the doctor started to put his socks on in an effort to put an end to the conversation. Sherlock rarely let anything lie.

“I don’t know what to say.”

John turned to watch him at the sound of concern in his voice. “Erm… about what?”

Sherlock met John’s eyes. “Your weight gain. I can’t deny it’s happening, there is empirical evidence of that. Besides, I don’t think you want me to lie for the sake of vanity. You don’t want to bike to work, you hate cycling in London. Yet, you don’t want me to tell you not to. If it was a stranger I would tell them to stop eating so much, but your caloric intake is very reasonable for someone who regularly needs bursts of energy for high stress situations—”

“— and that would be rude.”

A roll of the eyes. “And apparently that would be rude. Which is entirely beside the point. You are not a stranger.”

John sighed, recognizing ‘you are not a stranger’ as code for ‘I care how my words make you feel’ which was most certainly a serious sign of progress from Sherlock. “You don’t need to say anything. I gained weight. It happens.”

“It’s making you unhappy.”

“Things will, on occasion, make me unhappy.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Well…” John started to launch into some kind of explanation that would allow Sherlock to move past this, but he stopped short and burst out laughing at the serious, scheming expression on the detective’s face. He flopped backwards on the bed. “Tell me you won’t leave me when I’m a fat old man, then. I suppose you could do that.”

The look of abject alarm on Sherlock’s face almost made John regret the joke, but he smiled and nudged the detective into smiling with him. John reached up and grabbed the back of a natty dressing gown, yanking the taller man to lie down beside him and rolling so he was half ways on top, arm slung over a narrow ribcage. Sherlock let out a cheeky ‘oof’ when John’s weight hit him, and blew in his ear in retaliation. Sherlock grumbled unhappily, trying to move away from the sensation, but John gripped him tightly and wouldn’t let him escape. “John!” Sherlock tried to scold him but it came out a whine.

“Yes Sherlock?” John teased with a deliberate puff of breath against the shell of his ear.

The detective growled at him. “Stop!”

“Hmm? No, don’t think so.” Sherlock started to fight harder, but his long legs were dangling almost entirely off the bed and John was clamped tightly around him, leaving him with very little leverage. He flopped about for a moment before doing the only thing he could think of. He kissed John with a sharp turn of his head.

John laughed against his lips and loosened his grip. “Fine. No ears.” He rolled of his lover with a sigh. Sherlock rolled with him, keeping them face to face with John stretched out on his back.

“Surely you can think of something less infuriating to do with your mouth.”

John’s face twisted into a mocking smirk, and he pretended to look very thoughtful. “I dunno… This funny little brain of mine is having a hard time thinking of any.”

The detective grumped “Stop pretending! That funny little brain of yours never has any trouble with matters of sexual deviance.”

“Deviants, is that what we are? How do we deviate? Aside from the fact that my lover wants me fat as an old hen.”

Sherlock’s smile curled into something dangerous, and he rolled more squarely on top of John. “I do like you this way.” He said. “I enjoy the solidness of you.”

“Oh, just you wait.” John chuckled. “We keep eating downstairs and you’ll see solid yet.”

The detective cocked his head. “Angelo’s food is full of trans fats and simple carbohydrates. Perhaps we could cook more.”

Johns eyebrows went up. “We?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Cooking is mostly chemistry—”

“-Oh dear god help me—”

“—and I am sure I could handle it.”

“This seems like it might be a plot to drug me more easily.”

Sherlock looked thoughtful. “That would make for an excellent control—”

“—SHERLOCK!”

“Ugh. FINE.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and kissed John again. “I promise not to drug your dinner. Or leave you when you are obese.”

“It’s only a bit of a gut.”

Sherlock sighed, clearly growing bored. “I told you. I like it.” With that he started to slide down John’s body. John relaxed until Sherlock lifted his shirt and planted a kiss on his stomach.

The doctor nearly leapt out of his skin. “Sherlock!” he squawked. There was an edge of hysteria in the word, and Sherlock was quick on the uptake. He looked wicked for a moment before lowering his face back to John’s stomach and drawing a startled laugh from him. “S-stop!”

The detective remained silent, but John felt a grin against his skin before a particularly vicious nuzzle threw him into wild laughter. Sherlock was clearly enjoying himself, basking in the high pitched and helpless giggles pouring out of John.

“SHERLOCK HOLMES!”

“Hmm?”

“You— you haven’t shahahaved!” He said it with a tone and conviction that seemed to imply that he didn’t think Sherlock was aware for this fact. The detective didn’t have a case at the moment, though, and he rarely shaved under those circumstances. His facial hair was light and soft, growing slowly so it never presented much of a problem. In this case it seemed to be giving him an advantage.

“I’ve actually just decided that your gut is my favorite part of you.” Every word Sherlock spoke was enunciated precisely against John’s skin, adding the sensations of soft lips and warm breath to his torment.

“Sherlock!”

“I think your weight gain has made you more ticklish.”

“Get off me you smelly hobo—”

“—and now I have an avenue for recompense when you attack my ears.”

“I hate you!”

Sherlock stopped, lifting his eyes to meet John’s. “You don’t, though.” He slid off the bed and onto his knees. John panted while his laughter died down, then gasped.


End file.
